Sea and Land
by Ocean Mint Leaves
Summary: If there's something Arthur's sure of, even after everything that has happened, it's that Merlin will always seek him just as he'd always sought Merlin without even knowing. Requested fic by Searchingforangels. Golden Age! AU. Time Travel. Merlin and Arthur Friendship.
1. Time and Sound

Hello y'all! Slow clap for the fandom that never dies.

In all seriousness, though, you guys are amazing. That being said, you're probably wondering what I'm doing around here again. I happen to have two very good reasons.

1\. I finally can write something other than a 30 page long thesis. *cue choir of angels singing hallelujah in C minor*

2\. I got a request from the lovely _searchingforangels_ and of course my brain decided to go all out and make me write a freaking long fic because Merlin and Arthur are still my children and I'm still full of feelings.

As always, you should have music in your mind when reading this. I recommend 'The Chain' by Fleetwood Mac on repeat.

With that, I give you what's probably the most 'out-there' thing I've ever conceived. I'm still feel kinda guilty- I never got around to finishing that child! Merlin Golden Age AU that I swore I would ( I think it was supposed to be a series of drabbles?) and I'm still fascinated by the idea of a child Merlin and an adult Arthur interacting. Secondly, I've always wanted to do something with this kind of style- the kind of stream of consciousness third person omniscient awesomeness that Joyce is known for (he-yo!) and time travel is always fun to mess around with. This is supposed to be confusing at first, and if you find that everything seems non-sequitur then I've done my job. So buckle up for feels and an 8 year old Merlin.

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"Meeting your soul mate is like walking into a house you've been in before (…) you could find your way around in the dark if you had to."

— Jandy Nelson, I'll Give You the Sun

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 **I. Time and Sound.**

* * *

The world fades into dusk before him, like charcoal thrown upon a body of water, and for a moment Arthur cannot breathe.

The place that re-surge around him is familiar, terribly so, and yet it isn't. Gaius' small bed, which always is set in the center of the physician's chambers in the life he's known, is nowhere to be seen and two roads of makeshift coats replace it. Even with the poor light that filters through his keen, trained eyes can see that some of them have small speckles of blood the diligent servants have not been able to wash away.

He wonders how much innocent blood has been spilled already.

He hears the creak of the back door opening before he takes another breath and inevitably finds himself staring at the newly-installed Court Physician, wearing robes too big for him- _now,_ he realizes suddenly, _he must have lost so much weight since it all begun…._

Nervous fingers part the mane of red hair that kept Gaius' eyes hidden away and oh, Arthur almost wants to hug him but knows that he cannot. Gaius doesn't _know_ him.

The Court Physician stares at him for a moment, probably assessing his long dark cloak and unshaven cheeks. Arthur has no doubt that the medic in him is silently probing the King's tired, red-rimmed eyes and chalked lips, questioning his sanity perhaps. Arthur's filled with an improper urge to laugh. He has questioned it himself, multiple times.

"Who _are_ you?"

And it is then that Arthur thinks it wise to lower his hood and stare back at Gaius' questioning gaze, knowing that he will sound like a madman when he lets his old, dear physician know…

"Gaius..."

The man before him lets out a low, strangled sound and takes a step back to what one day will end up being _Merlin's-_

But Arthur cannot think of it. _Not now._

"How do you know my name?" Gaius asks. His hand fumbles around until he finds and grasps a small kitchen knife that lies besides a buttered bun. "Are you a _sorcerer?_ A druid? Speak!"

The fear in his eyes- Arthur fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut when he sees it. How long has it passed, he wonders, since Gaius has last heard of a friend of his being killed?

 _Is it still happening with regularity? Gaius are you-are you trying to save some of them? Is that what these chambers are set up for?_

Gaius looks tired and worn before him and he doesn't say anything but oh, Arthur knows. He knows it with instinctive ease, that good people have died in that room, perhaps even been dragged away to be executed. He's seen it, too.

He sighs before he speaks, "My name is Arthur." When he looks up Gaius ' eyes are wide with wonder and fear because he must have- surely he must have started to notice the similarities between the growing son of Uther Pendragon and the broad-shouldered King standing in his chambers. " _King_ Arthur."

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.

.

Gaius doesn't believe him.

Not until The High King shows him the Pendragon seal, rusty and faded but still in his right hand. What follows after is a stuttering rush of questions- of how and when and _why…._

"It's… complicated magic, Gaius." He says, sitting down and running a hand through unusually long hair. He realizes with a growing pit on his stomach that he's surprised ….surprised he has not noticed it before- (and yet emotions that are not ' _cold determination_ 'have been unknown to him recently…)

It is longer than it has ever been. Some of it tickles his ears. For a small moment he wonders what Guinevere would think of it.

"There's been a-a disturbance in the time frame." he continues, "Morgan… _ah,_ a sorceress has made her way back in time. She's- she's trying to get rid of the Camelot that will be." He hesitates before he adds, "The druids, they sent me back to find her and try and stop her." He feels his jaw tighten as his mind recoils at his use of the word. _Not to try,_ he rebukes himself, _to get it done._

Gaius' brows are almost touching and Arthur wants to groan out his despair. _Don't ask me who she is, Gaius. Please…_

He does not ask for the sorceress' name but stays silent for entirely too long. Arthur wonders briefly if he's broken Gaius.

"Dear gods, boy." The man says finally, pushing back coarse reddish hair. "What will you do?"

Arthur knows he looks nothing like a king at the moment- he's caught his reflection of Gaius' tall glass cabinets and cannot believe what he sees for the spam of a silent, hoarse heartbeat-his heartbeat. They're gone, the neatly kept golden hair and the crown that usually rests upon it, and the cloak-it looks as if he's made his way through mud and high-water- he _has_. All that is left is a man that has been trained, since infancy, to succeed in battle. A seasoned warrior- without Merlin, he knows now, that's all he truly is.

"I need to find her." He finally answers. It had been so easy before; to close himself to the world and act according to what needed to be done. But now, after _everything_ …"I must find her and then I'll-I'll force her to go back. She'll have no choice."

"How will you do that?" Gaius' question is one Arthur has asked himself and though he knows the answer there's a selfish part of himself that still denies it because _gods, no…._

"You need magic, if what you say it's true." Gaius continues, relentless, almost as if the man that will one day be his ward is speaking through him. Spiting him, taunting, Arthur knows his eyes have softened already at the thought of _him_... _"Powerful_ magic. Where will you…?"

Arthur wishes his knuckles were steel to stop his knuckles from digging into the wood because maybe if he doesn't say it Gaius can find another way- . Any. Other. Way.

But the words come out of his mouth. Dutifully. Tonelessly.

 _You want to see him. Admit it. You're selfish enough to go and find him._

"Gaius." He gives in to it because deep down he knows there's no choice. There has never _been_ any. "I need Hunith's boy. I need Merlin."

.

.

.

Though Gaius has barely gotten over his shock, in about an hour Arthur's already sneaked out of the castle and taken a horse from the royal stables. He catches a glimpse of a child that would be Morris, the manservant he had last before Merlin came along and memories awash over him. For the first time in months, now that he has a goal in mind and a target in sight, he lets them.

The horse is sturdy and stout, a battle horse, and Arthur is so very thankful for that old horse breaker he met once or twice when he was a boy. The man has done a good job, and that means that he'll be able to reach Ealdor in a shorter span of time.

 _Merlin will be there._ The thought alone makes Arthur's strained heartbeat lessen its pace.

 _Merlin will be there,_ he reminds himself as the horse races through blurring trees and muddy riverbanks, _He'll be there… and he won't know me._

Though this is something he knows he must not do, though the stallion runs like if it has never been tamed, though the wind threatens to put him out of balance Arthur can't stop his pale eyes from closing and his mouth from trembling when another thought strikes at his heart.

 _He's a child. He'll be in danger if I go through with this and yet deep down….I don't regret it._

Since when had his need for his best friend being so great that he's willing to jeopardize a mere boy's safety?

 _This is not for you._ The thought has surged before, time and time again, throughout all of these months, and it never lessens its intensity. Arthur thinks that it is almost as if he's pleading with himself. _It's for the kingdom. For Camelot._

Not for the first time since it all begun the King reaches down to touch a piece of worn cloth tied around his wrist.

He's tried to convince himself before.

.

.

.

"Help!"

He could never ignore the sound of someone in need. Not even now.

 _Damn it all!_ And that is why he forces the horse to a clean stop before turning the reigns in the direction of the near river. Arthur can hear the water run and soon enough a second cry pierces through the air, spurring his resolve.

"Help me please!"

He's tearing through the foliage, breathless, with Excalibur in hand, when he feels it. His heart falls silent in an effort to hear it too and he welcomes avidly the sensation of near lightning igniting his blood.

 _Merlin._ The King's soul can see him. _You're here._

In his exultation he almost cuts his palm open with a stubborn branch but unending years of training help him cross through towards the river with just a few scratches on his cheeks and, as he leaves the underbrush behind, Arthur can't help but think that he has not been this clumsy in a while. His hands tremble, hands that have gripped Excalibur firmly and taken out indescribable foes, and he cannot bring himself to care.

Wide-eyed, he searches around without truly knowing what he'll find. Not surprisingly, a woman clings to him almost instantly and Arthur wonders, in a distant, hazed, unimportant part of his mind, _how can you be desperate enough to fling yourself at someone that's so damn-near a vagabond?_

The answer is not one he's happy of. "My child!" the woman wails, her grip tight in the High King's forearms, "My baby! He's g-gone into that cave and h-hasn't come back! What if something's happened to him? My boy! "

The thought of a child in danger freezes the blood in his veins even though his heart's still warm with Merlin's presence, which lingers around him as if it has recognized him. "It's alright, my Lady. I'll go in and find him. He couldn't have gone far-"

Something shifts then and his core, his very _soul_ cries out. Though many years ago he would've hardly paid attention now, now that he knows what it means he can hardly stop his heart from racing to the point of paroxysm as his neck cracks in an effort to see all that surrounds them because _Merlin needs him_. His wizard had needed him before in battle, in drought seasons and senseless wars and now _, now_ -Arthur can feel his body rearrange itself to face towards wherever he might be…

The woman lets out one last distraught cry and Arthur's searching eyes see it, a little red-haired boy standing in the very edge of the cave, looking relatively unharmed but reasonably shaken. Beside him a small but lithe figure pushes him over, obviously encouraging the boy to climb down the rocks and get to his mother.

The world stops for a moment and the King's whole being shivers with warmth when his eyes find those of the little hero. Merlin stares back at him and something full of light and heavy with meaning clouds the open, joyful innocence of his smaller self.

 _You're here._ His thumbs wipe at his sunken cheeks but a few tears make it to his bearded chin. He lets them. It's been long since those days he'd given a damn about them. _You're actually here. Merlin. Dear gods._

Though Merlin doesn't know him _-should not know him-_ he smiles at him and it is that smile he reserves just for Arthur, the one that no one else ever sees, the one that says a thousand unspoken things between them. It's _impossible._ But it is. Merlin doesn't know him, Arthur realizes with a joyful, sobbing hiccup, but his soul does. _Emrys welcomes him._

 _If you only knew how much I want to hug you_ , he thinks deliriously, still staring at the boy, entranced, _Gwaine would have a field day but you-you would have understood. You always do._

Merlin staggers back and a spike of ice-cold worry threatens to numb Arthur's spine when his old friend shakes his head in clear distress, perhaps trying to dispel the sudden war between his mind and heart at the sight of what a druid woman had once called his other-half. Arthur knows Merlin is no seer but he _feels_ it when Merlin's eyes search his own once more. The boy seeks support in the walls of the cave and gingerly places his hand on the rocky surface.

A low, terrifying rumble resounds and Arthur knows what will happen before two full seconds have passed. Merlin stares back at him, eyes wide with fear and something deep in Arthur recognizes that it's not fear of the cave- in that has barely started but fear of being found out by the mother and son behind him- _by me,_ Arthur's heart trembles, _he's terrified of me. If he saves himself with magic and I-I see him….Merlin…._

"Merlin!"

He doesn't realize he's shouted one of the names dearest to his heart until Merlin's young face morphs from terror to complete incomprehension. Perhaps a few hours before he would have cared but not _now,_ not now with Merlin almost out of reach forever. In a distant, well-trained part of his mind he wonders what the implications of his actions will be but at nothing matters more than Merlin and seeing him safe-

 _Merlin, oh gods, please…._

In an instant he's surrounding his best friend's small frame with his arms and crushing him against his leathered-armor, forgetting, for once in many months, about Morgana. His sister, who has single-handedly destroyed his Camelot, is the furthest thing from his mind as he curls around the boy he will one day call his best friend and uses his body to shield him.

 _This just had to be the way I'd find you. The next best thing after bandits,_ he thinks with clenched teeth as the palm of his hand flattens against soft black hair. _Merlin… even as a child you have terrible luck._

He tries not to think of what could have happened if Iseldir had not sent him back but the fleeting idea that rears its ugly head in the depths of his mind sparks a dormant protective instinct inside of him and, as the rocks begin to fall upon them both, the world around him has fallen silent and everything he's ever really had is right here in his arms, small and fragile but _whole._

 _And I intend to keep it that way._ Arthur swears vehemently, _Lords Merlin, I know you joke about keeping me on my toes but you might just give me a heart attack one day._

 _Not that any blame is on you, of course,_ he amends sadly when memories begin to block the roaring of debris around them, _it seems that I just can't stop worrying about you. But…what would you say to that, old friend? Part of the soul-bonding experience, eh?_

Small fingers suddenly clutch tightly to the loose straps of his jacket. The High King pushes through the surprise and elation when he feels Merlin's head shift from under his hand to rest on his cloaked shoulder and pulls the boy closer with instinctive ease.

Though the cave collapses around them both the weary, battle-worn King of Albion hardly feels any fear. His soul sings within him.

Merlin might not know him but for a small moment Arthur has his sorcerer back.

* * *

I've always wanted to do some sort of time-travel fic for Merlin. There are so many infinite possibilities/au's AND JUST THINK OF THE ARTHUR AND MERLIN CUTENESS. IT IS A'COMING AND WILL ROT YOUR TEETH.

 _Searchingforangels_ gave me a prompt around the May so not only is this terribly-horribly-unfathomably late, it is also way longer than the one-shot I intended. I'll do my best to upload really quick.

In other news, I recently finished up Vikings and let me tell you...I cannot get enough of Ragnar's and Athelstan's bromance. I will possibly be writing them next so, you know, that's where you'll find me.

Though I am about to start my last year of college and graduate with a title in Literature and Linguistics I still love this fandom and everything's it's given me. Please do not hesitate in PM'eming me or sending me a request. I ALWAYS love to come back to these two dorks.

With love, as always,

Ocean.


	2. Apples and Neckerchiefs

_Bonjour mon ami!_

I can't thank you enough for the support you've given this little fic of mine. It's been literal _years_ since I've popped up around this wonderful fandom and y'all are entirely too beautiful and sweet. I love you all.

Now, this is just the very tip of the ice-berg. Though this is already fluffy and cute I've said it before and will say it again- Beware. One thing is fluffiness and God knows we all need it...but another is flufiness and _angst_ now _that_ is a lethal combination.

I didn't say it before, did I? This fic is dedicated to _searchingforangels._ This is for you! You've inspired every single word of this fic, my friend!

Onwards!

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"Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind.  
"Pooh!" he whispered.  
"Yes, Piglet?"  
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you."

\- A.A Milne. The House of Pooh's Corner.

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"There's small choice in rotten apples."  
— Willian Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew.

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 **II. Apples and Neckerchiefs**

* * *

Arthur remembers it, he remembers _this_ , the oppressing silence that follows up a cave-in but he's never been more thankful for it. The first thing he hears is Merlin's small, quickened heartbeat,steady against his chest, and his knees weaken with relief.

Before he can hold himself back he's already taken the boy's small face between his hands and pressed their foreheads together, something that they've fallen into the habit of in their adulthood. Many bloody wounds and desperate situations have taken away any reservation in the battlefield that they might have had before as it all has paled in importance to the absolute knowledge that they both were _safe_ and _this_ , Arthur thinks as he relinquishes in his best friend's presence beside him _, is something you owe me many times over, you moronic idiot..._

He realizes, too late, that this Merlin does not _know_ him… and opens his eyes only to find his friend vividly peering up at him as if he's a wonder of the universe.

"Um, hi." Merlin says, and _smiles._ He doesn't know it but Arthur _does_ , that this very smile is _his_ …it's the one meant just for the King of Camelot and no one else. For the second time in minutes Arthur has it right at his fingertips after months and months of-

 _And here I thought I'd never see that smile again._ Despite the trembling of his hands Arthur cannot let go and since Merlin doesn't seem to mind he does not.

"Hi," he answers and despite feeling ridiculous he cannot hold back a smile of his own. "Are you alright?"

Merlin's hair brushes against The King's forehead when he wriggles, "Are you?" he asks instead, frowning. "I think your arm's bleeding."

Arthur can't care less about such a minimal flesh wound when Merlin seems to be completely injury free _and_ smiling.

"Just a scratch," he says softly and reluctantly let's go of his best friend to see him better through the filtering light.

Merlin cannot be older than eight, he decides after comparing him to Amhar's own growth, but even then Merlin seems to be taller and yet somehow _smaller_ than he himself had been at that age, as if his body has not been able to keep up with his height. Arthur's throat dries when he realizes that Merlin perhaps isn't fed enough.

"You know my name," Merlin says firmly. Though Arthur can tell he's still weary Merlin's gaze is steady. "You _called_ my name."

He doesn't know what to say. "I-"

" _Do I know you_?" Merlin interrupts him and that shadow that Arthur has seen once before clouds his eyes again. "I don't think so but…I _feel_ like I do. Maybe-I know I shouldn't be talking to strangers but you don't _seem_ like one. Do you know my mum?"

"Yes…"The High King breathes, wanting nothing more than to hug the small boy before him and never let him go. "Yes, I know Hunith."

"Oh." _That_ smile again. Arthur thinks his heart might break. "Well then, that explains it. Thank you, by the way. You, um…you saved my life."

 _Oh Merlin,_ Arthur doesn't know if fondness surpasses the melancholy that seeps through him, _if you only knew…_

"Think nothing of it." he says instead. _I owe you so much more than what you'll ever understand…_ "I'm just glad you're alright."

 _If I hadn't been here…._ Arthur can't even think of it. _Well, that was a close one._

"Yeah…"the child in his arms chuckles lightly, "That was a close one, huh?"

Though his knees are scraped and there's almost no light, though he can hear the forebodings of a storm above them and he's sure cold night air will begin to seep through their rocky prison Arthur cannot help it. He l _aughs_ , for the first time in what could possibly be a forever, he laughs heartily and joyfully because _he's found Merlin._

 _Or did_ _you_ _find me?_ Arthur wonders in awe, _I can't think of any other reason why you may have been out here by yourself at twilight. Hunith wouldn't let you out, I know that much and you've told me…numerous times….that you'd always come find me. I just didn't know how true that statement was…_

'You know, you're strangely _happy_ for someone who just got stuck in a cave." Merlin quips, looking up at him with fascination written over every line of his young face. The familiarity of it strikes Arthur like a half-healed battle wound and he realizes he's _missed this_. He's missed this so much that, for all of its never forgotten joy, it aches.

The retort comes easily to him, "Now, how would you know?" though there's a subtle tenderness in his voice that the father in him possesses and the friend in him, starved and thus willing, _doesn't want_ to hide. "You can hardly see me."

"I don't _need_ to see you," and Arthur just _knows_ he's rolling his eyes. "You're not exactly screaming now, are you?"

"Well…" the smile in the High King's face hardly needs any light to be seen, it is so bright. "Maybe I've been trained for situations like this."

Merlin's violent reaction at his words, Arthur decides, is what makes his reflexes so damn slow. The boy turns away from the lap he's been trustingly kneeling on to flail wildly before falling on the hard ground. And Arthur's hands, too _late-_ too late for the second time in months- hover in mid-air and tremble as he wishes, not for the first time, to have a drop of magic so that he can turn back time.

Merlin, this skinny, small, _wonderful_ boy, openly stares into his eyes as if he can see the very depths of them. And Arthur _knows_ he can.

"You're…a _knight…_ a knight of…" Merlin is not stupid, no matter how many times Arthur playfully says so, and he effortlessly concludes that the closest kingdom where they are and the faded silver emblem on Arthur's ring finger must make of the man before him. The King sees the realization take form inside his best friend's eyes. "...of _Camelot_?"

He should not be so hurt-Merlin has talked about this; he's told his Once and Future King about the terror of daily life in a place like Ealdor and Arthur's been there to listen. They've _joked_ about this, damn it all!

 _But I never imagined_ , Arthur thinks miserably, _what seeing this kind of fear in your face would do to me. You're afraid of me, dear gods,_ _of me_ _. Of all the horrors fate has bestowed upon us, old friend, this is one of the worst. How could I ever hurt_ _you?_

"I was once." he says softly. It is not a lie. He once had been a knight, but that had ended the very same knight Camelot did. Yet, Merlin stumbles back like a cornered animal. Through his heartbreak the High King fights the urge to flinch in unison. "A long time ago."

Merlin doesn't approach again and well… _why should he?_ Though the King's heart wants nothing else than hug this small, _blessed_ missing part of his soul tightly against him there's an aching realization that Merlin's wide-eyed gaze sparks and suddenly long forgotten memories make him loath _again_ the hand he offers.

He has _killed._ He's killed _so many_ and yet, Arthur knows all too well, they are solace and guidance for the soul that is Merlin's and _his_ at the same time.

He thinks he might groan out loud at the sight. Merlin should not be cowering away, especially not from the one person that needs him the most. But, as he kneels in the floor of the cave with the weight of a task that has all but been forgotten and months of solitude, The Once and Future King's heart lightens with the surety of an intimate truth about the thin boy before him.

Merlin's never been able to stay away, even when it's for his own good. He _could not_ leave when Arthur was the crowned prince of a land that condemned magic and he won't do so now. If there's something Arthur's sure of, even after everything that has happened, it is that Merlin will always seek him just as he'd always sought Merlin without even knowing.

He refuses to look away from the blue eyes that have been more to him than air to a drowning man.

 _Look at me_ _. You've recognized me before…we've recognized each other before…_

 _'_ _Do I know you?'_ (1)

"Merlin…" it's barely a plaintive breath and the King's never known before that words alone can carry such need.

Silently, softly, with eternal ease and familiarity, Merlin's eyes _do_ seek his own like lightning awaiting thunder and Arthur finds that, once again in his life, no words are needed.

When Merlin's small, clumsy feet stumble through the half-lit dimness of the cave Arthur closes his eyes in silent and effusive thanks to whatever god carved his and Merlin's souls. There, without the echo of a world in need, he lets his heart be.

 _Come here, Merlin._ He's suddenly afraid that the cave's hollowness will swallow that which is most precious to him. It's happened before. Too many times over.

Merlin's small hands, like an answered prayer, soft and light and yet so very _familiar_ , force his eyes gently open to greet a profound gaze that no eight year old should posses.

"You don't look like a bad man." the boy says thoughtfully, studying the High King in a way ancient and yet new without even realizing it. "You just look... _sad._ "

Arthur cannot hold back a teary laugh at that, and he knows he shouldn't be surprised at Merlin's knack for reading him even with a few hours of 'knowing' him. "...Thank you."

A tiny grin answers him and, though their surroundings are all but visible, it feels as if a fire has been lit in the place with all of its inherent brightness and warmth.

"Do you want to get out of this place?" he asks unnecessarily but still enjoying the wider, childish smile that his question draws.

"Mum will not be happy if I get home _afte_ r dinner." Merlin says musingly. He tilts his head so that he can look at the man before him and the High King knows that, even though they are in a dim, hollow cave, the trusting eyes he can feel upon his are full of undeserving faith. "Let's go, sire."

 _I guess I know now what it takes for you to call me 'sire' without biting sarcasm,_ a deep part of Arthur's soul sighs, _somehow, I like 'old friend,' better._

 _But I still get to hear your voice,_ he backtracks fiercely when a skinny elbow softly brushes against his leg and he finds himself fighting back the urge to muss his friend's hair as he'd ordinarily do. _I'll take that._

 _I'll take that any day._

.

.

.

"Do you _really_ think you can use your sword to get us out of here?"

Arthur has to bite back a smile at the question. It is hardly the time or the place but something about Merlin's tone reminds him of _why_ he's undergone such hardships in the first place. His eight-year old warlock is right of course, not even blessed Excalibur can make its way through solid rock. But Arthur knows that there's no need for it, not as long as he pretends to be overly focused in the grunt work and completely oblivious to his best friend's nervous fidgeting behind him.

He kneels down and pretends to study tectonic formations, twisting both feet quite loudly and kicking over some stray debris.

It doesn't take long. It never has.

He feels it and welcomes the expanding warmth that overflows the too-thin boy behind him. Merlin's magic has never been anything but kind and reassuring and even now it seeks out and embraces the High King's soul like nothing else ever has.

This time he can't help but smile as he deals one last pretend-blow at the rock-wall and it gives in before Excalibur has the time to make contact. Too-eager steps echo behind him,

"You did it!"

 _No,_ he looks at the happy grin in Merlin's face and answers it with one of his own. _No, I didn't. We're falling back to old habits now but I don't mind in the least. Not if it means we've made it out of here and there's a chance in hell of saving y-saving the future._

"Yeah, I did." he says softly. _We_ _did it. Like we always do._

Merlin doesn't hear him. The warlock's already sprinted ahead with childhood eagerness and it is only because Arthur knows his friend _too_ well that he manages to wrap his forearm around the boy's skinny torso when he inevitably trips over his own feet.

" _Ooof_!"

"It's alright, I have you." _Have you_ _always_ _been this clumsy?,_ his urge to groan all but disappears when Merlin looks up at him with a bashful and sheepish smile.

" _Heh._ Thanks."

"You're very welcome." he tries not to dwell in the irony of their role-reversal and instead holds the child firmly. "Do you think you can manage to climb down on your own?"

Many times over in his life, when Merlin had been a cheerful servant and even later on after he'd become Arthur's right hand man, the High King had wished for nothing else but the ability to voice his worry out loud.

 _Don't shrug it off please. The last thing I can take right now is you slipping and breaking something when you're out of my reach._

But Merlin's never been one to heed advice, not even from Arthur, and only nods before starting his way down. His eyes are downcast and Arthur can see the concentration on his friend's young face, but there's something in the way Merlin steps on the rocks that makes his stomach plummet down with uneasiness. He knows it before another tense breath leaves his body, that _his_ presence makes Merlin feel safe like nothing else ever can, and that the too eager little feet before him are, for once, as carefree as any child's should.

Merlin turns and smiles at him again, as if he hadn't a care in the world. But Arthur doesn't miss the way he stumbles a little bit and avoids cutting his palm open on a particularly sharp edged rock by an _inch-_.

He pulls at the edge of his leather gloves like it's a knee-jerk reaction.

"Look!" by the setting sun Merlin's eyes look alight with gold. "There's still time to get back!"

"Yeah," Arthur's hand curls and uncurls, restless, when Merlin's foot slips into muddy water and half of his calf disappears from view.

"Oops,"

And, still smiling, the boy makes a face that the King has associated with unfinished chores for ten years. "Mum's not going to be happy about that. She did laundry yesterday."

 _But you haven't complained about the dust that's all over you,_ Arthur realizes, forever in tune with the double meaning in his friend's words, _and_ _I_ _know you know your face is covered with soot, so why-_

The answers come to him with Merlin's laugh, the unbelieving, joyful one that usually followed one of his confessions about magic _, "You have no idea how hard it is to master heating spells you prat. Temperature can be a tricky thing. I set fire to mum's washed sheets one too many times and she'd know that I'd been using magic- she used to worry so much that I'd been seen that I stopped trying it altogether…"_

"I see," his heart swells with affection for his sorcerer, so much so, he thinks, that is a wonder his ribs are not broken. "Come here."

Merlin makes his way over with the grace of a newborn colt and though Arthur's blood threatens to freeze twice over when the boy stumbles over a slippery slope, he stops at the High King's side and looks up expectantly, with a glint in his eye that Arthur knows all too well. Even when Uther's hand was over his, there had been that spark of utmost trust in his best friend's gaze.

"Now," he kneels before Merlin and unties the worn piece of cloth around his wrist. He can't think of anything more fitting for its use. "She won't be _too_ worried."

"That looks like one of _my_ neckerchiefs!" Merlin observes with delight but before he can add anything the High King begins to rub the soot off his nose and cheeks with vigorous gentleness.

"It's my friend's" Arthur answers after seeing the question in the boy's eyes, "my _best friend's_."

" _Ooof_ \- he uses neckerchiefs too?" the smile says it all, "who is he? _Where_ is he?"

 _As if there could be two of you,_ Arthur almost can't bite down his laugh but he manages to and only lets out a small guffaw, "Back home."

"In Camelot?"

"Yeah…" memories of Guinevere, Leon and Gaius awaken inside him and he thinks of the irony of it all, of how magic itself can call Camelot home. "In Camelot."

"He must be _amazing!"_ Arthur almost pokes him in the eye when Merlin tilts his head upwards.

"Don't do that-"Merlin makes a grimace but obeys, "he's a bit of an idiot-"a _selfless, clumsy idiot._ Arthur can't help himself. For a small moment Merlin- _his Merlin_ \- is all he can see in his mind eye and that known, dull ache overcomes his soul. _"…_ But he's also the best man I've ever known."

Merlin falls quiet before him and it is only after he blinks twice that Arthur can see his soul-brother's blue eyes look back at him.

His better half raises an eyebrow and tilts his head, the way he always does when he tries to read his King. "Your eyes are all… _sparkly_."

Arthur laughs then, carefree and _soft_ and whole, like he hasn't been in months. "Oh _yeah_?" he licks the tip of his thumb and rubs off a particular stubborn spot of soot on Merlin's left cheek, "I wonder why."

" _Ewww!_ You put saliva on me!"

"Don't tell me your mum has never done that."

"Of course she has! But she's my mum! You're…well…" Merlin stops, as if unsure of what to say next but Arthur can understand his silence perhaps better than his words. _You're not sure of_ _who_ _I am or what I am to you…but you can tell that I am no stranger. I don't remember my servant's name from that time but by the gods I remember that. I asked you if I knew you and I meant it. I guess you can't really put your finger on it either huh?_ The small wrinkle over Merlin's nose confirms it. _What a pair we make._

"It's just…. _ewwww."_ Merlin repeats and Arthur bites down on his lip hard to stop himself from smiling. He can think of one or two times in which Merlin has drooled on his shoulder when they'd fallen asleep against a wall after grueling patrols or a tree trunk during hunting trips. And he'd done his fair share too, when he'd chased his servant around the castle with the dirty shirt he'd used for practice.

 _How does the saying go?,_ he thinks with amusement as he watches Merlin rub the palm of his small hand over his cheek, _Sweat, tears and blood? I guess we can add 'disgusting saliva' to the list now_.

"There you are." Arthur ties the neckerchief around his wrist slowly. He knows his eyes are still 'sparkling' but cannot bring himself to care. "Now Hunith will never know you've gone and got trapped in a cave. _" for being a hero nonetheless. But you've never been comfortable with people knowing that, have you?_

"Hopefully she thinks that I'm still picking apples." Merlin says without much conviction. "That's what I said I would do."

Arthur's answer comes but a breath later. "I'm sure we will find some apples on our way."

"You think so?" Merlin's soft face lights up, picking up the confidence- perhaps bordering arrogance- in Arthur's tone.

 _If you only knew that in another time, half a year ago, I would've ordered apples from all corners of my kingdom for you._ Arthur muses sadly.

"I know so." he soothes easily, looking down to find _that_ smile blossoming on Merlin's face. "Your mum will have to make apple pies for weeks with all the apples we'll get."

"My mum's apple pies are the best." Merlin says, shuffling closer without even noticing. But Arthur does, and because they have come upon a particularly deep-looking creek he instinctively picks the boy up by his bony underarms and walks over to the next rock formation-making sure Merlin's small feet have regained their footing before letting go.

"You didn't have to carry me." Merlin protests, slightly offended. He angles his head like a bird's- just as his adult self often does. "I'm _not_ going to fall. Promise."

Something heavy and filled with warmth settles inside the High King when Merlin inevitably trips before his promise is half-a second old. His tiny warlock flushes bright red, like the apples Arthur would love to gift him with, like Camelot's banner and the High King's old cloak and the blood of Arthur's men.

" _Really?"_ Arthur says. He takes a moment to make sure Merlin's alright and kneels down beside him. The greatest fondness closes his throat.

Merlin's cheeks are pink when he answers hurriedly, looking away from Arthur's eyes. "That didn't count."

In the dying sunlight, Merlin looks smaller than the children Arthur usually sees trying to joust at the marketplace. The hands with which the boy rubs his elbows, hunched over and embarrassed, are the very same Arthur owes his life to. He marvels at it, at the wonder of it all. Merlin's just a child, flustered and bright-eyed, and yet, at all times, he holds the High King on the palm of his hand.

"Well, _I_ didn't see anything." he raises his eyebrows and looks up at the darkening sky for emphasis.

Though he cannot see Merlin, he can _feel_ the boy shift beside him.

Small fingers brush against his hair, the only fingers he'd recognize in life and death. The touch is so familiar, so well-known, that Arthur can almost fool himself into thinking that it all has been a bad dream, a fever-induced nightmare and that Merlin's rousing him from a heavy sleep, readying a quip or two to use during an early Council meeting…

"Thank you." and, just as sudden as it has begun, the magic-less spell is broken and Arthur finds that opening his eyes is harder than before.

Once he opens them though, there are no velvet curtains or marble floors or Guinevere's smile…in their place, there's what he's battled to find, _who_ he's fought for so long a time- _Merlin-_ and he feels faint with happiness.

His warlock's eyes are brighter, greater, and deeper than any sea Arthur's ever crossed.

"Thank you." Merlin says. He rests the palms of his hands on Arthur's knees. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. It's just that…I'm not _useless,_ you know?"

 _Is that what you think_? He must only look at the tell-tale sign of Merlin shuffling his feet to know it's the truth. _How_ _can_ _you? You- who have just single-handedly brought me to my knees without even fully knowing who I am…_

"No," Arthur whispers, "…No. _Never_ that."

It's so low that Merlin should not hear him but he _does_ and looks at the High King with such eyes that a whole world could not fill them.

When Arthur extends his hand, rough, callous and ungloved, Merlin skips the two steps it takes for him to meet the King and holds it tightly, surely…Arthur can only think, _as he would have his mother's._

Though he doesn't want to, though it is the last thing he ever wants to think about, Arthur can't help but relive the moment when he held that hand last. _I think I had forgotten about how warm your hands have always been._

"You have a _horse_?" And Arthur's snapped out of it by the slight pull of Merlin's whole weight- all fifty pounds of it- going forward. The King suspects his tiny warlock deduced that the horse can only be a knight's a second after he spotted one of Camelot's finest. "That's _brilliant!_ I've only ridden on a horse once, when Will's father came to visit last summer!"

A slow, true smile, soften's the hardness of the High King's face. "Well then. Today will make it two, won't it?"

Merlin's grip on his hand is so sudden and strong that for a moment Arthur's sure he's used magic without even knowing it. "Are we? Are we _really_?"

 _I don't know what you were thinking but I don't like it. You know the horse is mine...Would you really ever consider that I'd let you walk beside me for a day's ride..?_

Before he can get any angrier with whatever gods were responsible for droughts and tides Merlin baffles him in that way only he can. "Can I hold the reins?"

A heartbeat hangs between them- of stunned silence and childhood eagerness and lightness and _time_ \- "I'll tell you what," There are much more important things in the world than this little boy beside him but Arthur's not about to think of any of it. "You can hold the reins and I'll steer it. How does that sounds?"

Merlin's arms, locked around what little he can reach- Arthur's waist- like enchanted vines, death-like in their grip, strong in their softness, and the High King can only think of Excalibur, only an _inch_ away from slicing Merlin's finger...

"Let's go," Arthur says, and clears his throat twice. "let's get your mum as many apples as this horse can carry."

* * *

There you have it. To be quite honest, this chapter was very fun to conceive and subsequently write. Now- though I'd rather people don't do this because it would spoil the fun- yes I know that Merlin hasn't even asked for Arthur's name yet. Don't worry, that will be addressed on the next chapter.

I am just starting classes at Uni so updates might be a little sporadic. Just a heads-up.

I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it!

Love, as always,

Ocean.


	3. The Hunt ( Part I)

Hello y'all. I apologize for the _extremely_ long wait. I wish I could chalk it all up to Uni but that's not entirely true. Uni has been brutal, yes, but this chapter was a little like pulling teeth out. The _good_ news is that now that I got this chapter out of the way I've written out the rest so this fic will be entirely uploaded in what I think will be no more than three weeks.

Thanks for being so patient. I hope that this is worth the wait. :)

* * *

No blood will spill if we both get out now  
Still it's hard to put the fire out  
What seemed like a good idea has turned into a battlefield  
Feelings are shifting like the tide  
And I think too much about the future  
What seemed like a good idea has turned into a battlefield.

\- Lea Michelle _, Battlefield._

* * *

 **III. The Hunt (Part I)**

* * *

The road is nonexistent- Leon and the royal masons will plan it after he's crowned High King- but Arthur knows it nonetheless.

Merlin does too.

His warlock's hands, Arthur notices, though tiny and delicate, are not soft. Merlin's childish fingers are callous, overworked- and yet he holds the horse's reigns as if they're made of silk.

"D'you reckon _I'll_ have a horse someday?" Merlin asks, "Mum wouldn't have to carry firewood, would she?"

Arthur's throat closes up and he must blink twice before he can answer. When he does, his voice is still not quite steady. "Yes of course. _Of course_ you will."

" _Really?"_ and Arthur realizes that Merlin was expecting a different answer- a _negative_ one- when the boy almost jumps out of the saddle. He turns around with ease, the reigns entirely forgotten, and wraps his small fingers around Arthur's wrist. "Do you really think _I_ will _?"_

The King thinks back on the day after Merlin's proclamation as Court Sorcerer. Quietly and teasingly, as only he could, Merlin had told him of how unnerving it was to be the third most powerful person in the whole of Albion, second only to Arthur and Guinevere. Arthur had mussed his friend's hair in reply and laughed. Only now, after the world they'd built has caved in, does he see the true weight of Merlin's words.

"Why _wouldn't_ you?" Arthur asks gently, dreading the answer but needing to hear it all the same.

Merlin's hand still over Arthur's and he sighs deeply, as if he's taking a great weight off his heart. "Will went off to the market last Sunday to sell milk and potatoes. He says that his mum wants him to do that from now on. We're not going to be able to play now. Will's mum says that she wants him to learn how to do trade-"

Arthur's only too familiar with his best friend's babbling. It takes him two heartbeats to put together the pieces. "You thought _you'd_ grow up to become a farmer."

He stifles the strange urge to laugh. Merlin would become one of the most powerful political figures in the land and Arthur's absolute, irreplaceable right hand. The thought of him as a farmer is ludicrous at best. _But,_ and the laughter dies in the King's eyes as sudden as it rose, _what magical renegade has the means to own a horse, really?_

It makes him pale with rage but he knows with absolute certainty that had his father ever decided to search Ealdor for sorcerers Merlin would have had to escape on foot and so would have Hunith.

His knuckles are white over the horse's reigns but he doesn't realize it until Merlin's fingers smooth over them. His warlock has chosen to mull over a different matter entirely. "What do you mean _'thought'_?"

"Uh…" the High King can't think of an answer to that. He raises his eyes to look away from Merlin's own and sees that the woods have opened up. A trace of cooked venison hangs in the air, taunting and inhumanly appetizing; Arthur's long-suffering stomach growls like an awakened beast.

"Look!" Merlin says it for him, and his last question is all forgotten by both of them. " There! There's where mum buys apples!"

Arthur quickens the horse's pace and they are dismounting in a matter of minutes. Though Merlin insists that he can get off the horse on his own, Arthur will hear none of it. Merlin's skinny enough for Arthur to carry around like a half-full sack of flour, clumsy enough to fall faceless to the ground and terrified enough to not use magic if it happened.

He's too tired for another round of verbal sparring and, miraculously, Merlin's attention is elsewhere. He lets Arthur swing him off the horse without protesting further, choosing instead to point at the apples that a young man carries over to a wooden table.

"There they are!"

"Yes, indeed." And Arthur's arms are empty much too soon; Merlin runs like only an eight-year old could, free of any thought but that of his mum.

In a different time, when both of them were still quite young, Ealdor had been raided yearly and Merlin's bravado had been enough to convince Arthur of going after him. Now, as he ties the horses to a post, the King cannot help but think of how little it took _then_ and how little it takes _now._

A soft, wonder-filled gasp, reaches his ears and so does Merlin's enthusiastic prattle.

"… _We'll_ take all of them! Yes! D'you think these are enough for two horses to carry? No? D'you have more on that cart?" and Arthur can just see Merlin jump up to take a peek at it. "Brilliant!"

He turns to Arthur at the exact moment the King stops beside him, as naturally as he's always done.

"Oi!" the vendor seems skeptic and _well,_ Arthur thinks, _why shouldn't he be_? Here a man that looks as if he's crawled through mud, crown-less and grim faced, who's apparently offered to buy a season's worth of apples.

The vendor sticks out his chin towards Merlin's happy face. "Is he with you?"

" _Yes."_ and Arthur feels foolish when it comes out more forcefully that he'd intended. In the Camelot that he's left no one's ever questioned Merlin's presence by his side. It's surreal and _wrong_. "Yeah," he attempts to soften his tone. "…he's with me."

"Will ya _really_ buy all of my apples?"

" _Yes."_

"Mum's going to be so happy." Merlin says joyfully and Arthur's heart leaps when his tiny hand slips into Arthur's own. "Thank you Sire-"

Arthur looks down when Merlin's head whips around to stare at him, so fast that his small neck cracks.

"I don't know your name!" he seems horrified, overly so. Arthur fights the urge to shush him and, though the vendor shots them an odd look, answers softly. "That's because you never asked for it."

Merlin shakes his head with wide eyes. "How could I _not?"_

Arthur cannot answer that. _You didn't have to. You've known me, nameless, since before your birth. Is it really so surprising that we've journeyed together with such ease?_

He swallows before answering. "My name is Arth- my name is Antor." (1)

" _Antor_?" Merlin's eyebrows shoot up. "That's an odd name."

The boy frowns next, as if the name doesn't quite add up and Arthur's whole being shudders with the possibility of Merlin somehow- _someway-_ recognizing him for who he is.

He doesn't know if he dreads it or wishes for it.

But, like a shadow passing over, the glint in Merlin's eye leaves. He adds slyly. "That's a _very_ odd name."

"And _Mer_ lin is not?" the king retorts easily with the beginning of a smile.

When he looks down Merlin's eyes shine brighter than the Uther's most prized crown. Arthur cannot help it and he is not sure he wants to; the warmth of Merlin's eyes spills over and towards him, magic-born, greater than the king's every fear and he feels his back muscles loosen and his own eyes soften.

"…you'll want a cart for all this, mate." Looking away from Merlin almost reluctantly, the King turns to find that the vendor has finished piling up and counting the apples. The man shakes his head and scratches it and Arthur suddenly realizes that he's probably never seen anything more valuable than a single silver coin. "That'll be- blimey, that'll be seven gold coins. _"_

Arthur takes out his pouch and lays ten of them on the table. "Keep the change." he says lightly. He feels like a playful stripling; the man's eyes look about ready to leave their sockets. Merlin's choked wheeze beside him, though, has him wincing. _You can't possibly be thinking about arguing with me on this…._

But that seems to be, of course, exactly what Merlin is thinking. He pulls on Arthur's hand insistently until the king has to look over. "I can't pay you back!" he whispers, wide eyed and pale-faced.

 _Keep breathing and we're even_. Arthur thinks ferociously, _smile like you just did a minute ago forever and I'll have to pay_ _you._

"Hey," he touches Merlin's jaw lightly and waits until his soul-brother looks into his eyes to speak. " _You_ don't owe _me_ anything."

Though something akin to gold flashes in Merlin's eyes Arthur cannot dwell on it- a gloved hand slaps the wooden table beside him and the warmth in his best friend's gaze is replaced by pure, unadulterated terror. He shrinks against the King's side, as if he hopes to disappear and the light grip on the King's hand tightens so much that Arthur _feels_ his fingertips turn white.

When the man clears his throat Merlin turns to hide his face against the king's hip. Arthur instinctively cradles the back of it. The intimacy of it is not lost to him. It is as if Merlin's soft cautiousness is replaced by deep-rooted, basal instincts.

 _What is it?_ his heart already quickens. _This is not like you._

"Merlin?" he calls softly, brushing the pad of his thumb against his friend's forehead. There's no answer and instead he feels Merlin's whole body shift so that he can better position himself against Arthur's ribs. Though he still wears his leathered armor, Arthur can feel Merlin's little heart race madly through it.

Rage rises to the king's throat like bile, clawing its way out of the place Arthur has kept it reigned in for months. _All of it comes back_ \- the heat of battle with its bloody tempestuousness and the desperate, animal madness with which he'd tried to butcher every last one of Morgana's mercenaries _and-_

He's left Excalibur fastened to the saddle but Arthur thinks that he might kill this man with his bare hands.

The emotions die down as quickly as they come when Merlin brushes against him and takes a fistful of his cloak.

"Let's go, _please."_ The murmur's so quiet that Arthur would've missed it where it not for the insistent tugging on his hand. Merlin's eyes are wide, terror-filled and the King is overcome with an impulse to take him up in his arms and run towards the horse.

"Alright." He soothes softly, not unlike he would have done with a certain bed-ridden, sick Court Sorcerer. "Let me just get the apples and we'll be on our way."

Merlin's eyes are uncertain, as if he's trapped half-way between desire to get his mum's apples and fear. But he says nothing and Arthur can only frown. I _'ve seen you bad-mouth kings and bandits that could take your head off. It's hard to believe that as a child you were any different so why…?_

He lets his hand settle on the base of Merlin's neck and turns around, intending on pulling the cart towards the horse and start loading the apples.

That's when the stench hits him. He doesn't quite believe it at first- it's something that he's become quite accustomed to in a battlefield or during a siege but he invariably recognizes it for what it is: the foul odor of old, rotten bloody rags.

Then he _sees_ it.

A rather imperious looking black horse huffs impatiently a few feet away from him; a donkey is tied to it with what seems like a sack of old, copper-stained clothes on its back. Arthur realizes quickly that those are not clothes but a shriveled, bloody human being tied to the back of the animal.

Merlin's little fingernails almost draw blood and Arthur understands, aghast, that this is what has terrified Merlin so.

" _Merlin…"_ he doesn't know what to say. His best friend's small hand clutches his with a vice like grip when he finishes Arthur's half-maddened thought quietly,."…. _he's a sorcerer, isn't he?"_

And Arthur can no longer think straight, not after this. He turns around, fully intending to scoop Merlin up and run like hell when the well-trained, cold part of him remembers how suspicious it would be to leave a paid purchase behind.

 _I've trained to chase after people who do this._ The King all but groans out loud _, it'll only put Merlin in danger if we take off right now._

A low tone rumbles from his left. "It's an unpleasant sight, I must admit."

It is so unexpected that Arthur's hand immediately settles upon his scabbard only to remember that Excalibur is not there. The man beside him is cloaked so heavily that the King almost thinks him a Mercian mercenary.

"I rather regret having to transport him like this." The man continues. "It's a perfectly good donkey. Well, it's no matter. He'll be dead in a few hours. Turns out he was not the sorcerer I was looking for though he damn-well showed signs of shifty behavior."

Arthur's hand fumbles for a bit until he finds Merlin's wrist. The boy has burrowed so deep into his cloak that Arthur can no longer tell where the fabric ends and Merlin's black hair begins.

Years of regal training allow him to keep a carefully unemotional mask and, not for the first time, Arthur thanks the gods for it. He remembers enough of his own childhood to know that showing disapproval of those days' sorcerer-hunting methods was as big a crime as doing magic itself.

"I see." he says cautiously. The man turns towards him and pulls back his hood, perhaps thinking he'd found a fellow magical-hating mindset in the Once and Future King. His steely blue eyes, Arthur knows, must not be unlike his own at the very moment. There's something in the man's features that is painstakingly familiar though, and he feels his muscle tighten with adrenaline. _I've seen you before_ , Arthur studies the man's expensively embroidered cloak in an effort to summon _something_ into mind, _Of that I am certain. But who…?_

Arthur feels Merlin move against him. He shifts uselessly; the man's eyes are immediately drawn towards the disturbance. There's new warmth in the man's pasty face when he smiles at Merlin with yellowed teeth.

Merlin's hand digs through the king's flesh and Arthur remembers _that_ smile and the laugh that accompanies it, he remembers the silver-blond hair and his own father's insistence that he _must learn all he can from a man so learned in magical beings…_

 _Aredian_ , Arthur's soul falls to his feet _, it is you. The witchfinder._

Merlin lifts his face towards Arthur's, perhaps seeking the king's eye, but Arthur cannot look away from the man that had singlehandedly accused and condemned (oftentimes falsely) hundreds of men and children. Aredian is younger than Merlin ever knew him but older than Arthur's first memories of him. Uther had longed to meet him after the purge had begun and Aredian had quickly grown to become one of his father's most trusted allies in his war against magic.

Though Aredian's hair is not yet silver and he sports a crude beard, his smile remains as unpleasant as ever. And when he extends a hand towards Merlin's chin as if to take it, Arthur's whole being becomes taut like a ready whip, his blood boils and thrums; he feels more than commands his hand to lash out and grab Aredian's in an unyielding grip.

 _I'll be damned if I let you touch a single hair of his head._ He pushes Merlin back with his free hand, strategically measuring the distance between them. _I stood by and watched it happen once. I've grown since then._ Had he been a lesser man, less trained in the art of politics, Arthur knows he would've said it all out loud.

"We're leaving." Arthur announces when he sees that his maneuver has caused Aredian's eyes to snap into attention, like those of a hawk that's caught scent of its prey. "We want no trouble."

But Aredian's no longer listening. He is unmoving and silent, too silent for Arthur's liking. The king follows Aredian's traveling gaze with a heaving chest and feels faint when he sees the tailored gemstone shining in the light of the setting sun, hanging from his wrist and softly oscillating with the wind.

Aredian's eyes are trained on it, animal-like. Arthur knows that look. It's a look that he has seen on men calculating how to kill.

"So you're not taking that load of apples, are you?" Aredian asks with a politeness that would shame the great house of Du Bois. "Perhaps you need a hand?"

The sun sinks down further, draining it all from light, but the king's trained eyes have already found the scabbard of a costly Camelotian sword striped to Aredian's belt.

"I've quite got it." Arthur manages to spit out. "Thank you for offering your assistance."

Merlin's hand is soft and warm in his when he turns around and covers him entirely with his worn, leather-bound cloak.

"I need you to _run."_ he whispers urgently into his sorcerer's ear, hugging him to his side. "I need you to run towards the horse, is that clear?"

Merlin's young, terrified face is fit to haunt him forevermore. "What? No! _Not without you_!"

If there had been biting tenderness in his warlock's tone instead of mind-numbing fear Arthur knows he could fool himself into believing _his_ Merlin is talking. But the small, tired and hungry version of his best friend is terrified beyond belief and Arthur's heart aches for the both of them. "No, I won't…" _leave you_. He bites his tongue. Adult Merlin can understand all unsaid behind those words much better than his younger self will ever can. _"I'll be right behind you,"_ he whispers instead and his lips brush against black hair once. "I promise." He pushes Merlin's small frame forward. _"Go."_

Merlin looks into his eyes as if to reassure himself and then takes off, protected by the elongated shadows of the trees. Arthur squares his shoulders. He's not quite sure of what exactly _can_ be done but maybe, just _maybe_ , he can throw Aredian off the scent before he chases after the King and his sorcerer like a rabid dog.

"I don't know who you are." Aredian comments casually. Arthur turns slightly, trying to shield Merlin from view. "but it seems you know who _I_ am."

The King has to bite his lip to stop himself from crying out when Merlin trips and falls only a few feet away from where the horse is tied.

"It's been at least three years since I last saw an artifact like the one you've got around your wrist." Aredian continues, sounding as if he's just been offered a king's ransom. "King Uther's got quite of collection in the vaults of Camelot. It is mainly used to ward against evil, is it not? However, they're quite useless. All that _scum_ ended up dead despite them, didn't they?"

Arthur turns around so fast that for a moment the world's just a blur of color. Aredian's smiling, _smiling_ like a drunken sailor.

"And that _boy of yours_." he continues tauntingly. "Oh, he just _must_ have _it_ , doesn't he? You asked your boy to run instead of keeping him beside you, where he'd be objectively safe, because you wanted him as far away from _me_ as possible-"

Silence weighs between them and Arthur can barely remember who he is in his fury. It's as if this nightmare Morgana's created has made his heart half-feral. He moves blindly and when he blinks again he has Aredian by the throat and against the ground, gasping and flailing like a dying fish.

When Arthur speaks next his voice is far calmer, deadlier, than he remembers it being for five months.

"I wouldn't cross me when it comes to _him_." He presses tighter. Aredian claws at the ground. _Good._ "If you ever do, Uther Pendragon's purge will be nothing compared to what _I_ -"

" _Sir Antor!"_

And just like that Arthur's snapped out of it- not by the improvised version of his name but by the voice that's said it, _Merlin's,_ and then killing Aredian, as appealing as it is at the moment, is an inconceivable thing- He presses Aredian's face to the filthy dirt twice before he gets up.

Merlin has managed to untie the horse, mount it, and guide it towards his companion. Even in the dying light and the heavy shadows Arthur can see the fear in his friend's countenance but there's a steely resolve present in Merlin's young eyes that reminds Arthur of better days and spurs his own heart. In one fluid movement he mounts behind Merlin and takes a hold of the reigns. His friend's soft hair immediately makes contact with his stubbly chin and the King's whole being is filled with warmth.

Though he knows Aredian must be getting up the dirt already Arthur doesn't spare the man a second glance. Instead he wraps his two hands around Merlin's own where they hold the reigns tightly and lets out a low " _hyah!"_ to spur it forwards.

The horse, as it is true of all of Camelot's finest steeds, takes off immediately. Merlin's head rests against the King's arm and Arthur doesn't look back- he doesn't _need_ to.

That's why, when the arrows start swishing past, it takes him but surprise. The horse whinnies madly, voicing the King's own state of mind as he desperately maneuvers to get lost between the trees and blind his own father's archers. He hunches above Merlin, using his arms to draw him closer and hold him tighter, putting his own sinew and muscle in between the arrowheads and Merlin's small, beating heart. He strives to move forward, blinking against the ghostly light that barely filters between the trees and the deafening darkness of night, biting his tongue until it draws blood when, out of habit and anguish, he almost asks Merlin to conjure light for them to see.

"C'mon, c'mon..." the horse pants as it is forced to zig-zag its way through the trees. Arthur no longer knows if he hears his or Merlin's heartbeat in his head. " _C'mon...!_ "

He doesn't exactly know how it happens but suddenly Merlin's face is no longer tucked against his chest and the boy is climbing up to wrap both skinny arms around the king's neck. Merlin's chin settles against Arthur's shoulder-blade, looking steadfastly at the very eyes of the enemy.

 _"Merlin!_ " Arthur cannot help it. His soul overrides all previous training and years of experience when he lets go of the reins and puts one hand on Merlin's scalp, intending to force his friend down again. _"Get down!_ "

"They're chasing us..." Merlin says quietly, struggling against Arthur's frantic grip. " _Why_ are they chasing us?"

Before Arthur can think of an answer, another arrow flies past them, almost taking with it part of Merlin's small ear. The king turns sharply, almost violently. "Merlin _get down!"_

"We're going towards Ealdor!" Merlin shouts over the roaring wind, still fighting to remain upright. " _My_ _mum_! You can't...!"

Another arrow flies past them with a high-pitched whistle and Arthur's heart sinks because _Merlin is right_ and he is the greatest fool to ever live and _gods_ _I'm so sorry Hunith..._

He risks a peek behind him and is dismayed to find that, despite his best efforts, they're still in pursuit. Merlin's arms and almost _too_ tight around his neck, holding on for both of them. He fights it but knows that he has no choice.

"Merlin...Merlin you _need_ to..." but Arthur can't do it. He can't ask Merlin to reveal his biggest secret in the midst of battle, even as Uther's trainer archers are closing in, knowing how it'll scar him and scare him out of his skin.

 _Besides_ , he can't help but recognize, _I can't bear for him to look at me again like he did before in the cave._

Merlin turns slightly towards him. With the whipping wind, his hair tickles Arthur's cheek. "What? We're not going to Ealdor, are we?"

 _I can't turn now without going towards open ground,_ Arthur theorizes sorrowfully, _we can't hide in open fields._

Arthur strives to look at his oldest friend by the ghostly light of moonlight and feels his mouth run dry. "...Your mum will be safe." he reassures softly, though the arrows still whistle past them. " just...just _please_ duck again."

Merlin, perhaps because of the look in Arthur's eyes, obeys. He hunches over himself in front of the king, reaching over to place his hand over Arthur's and nail his gaze on the horizon. There's a look in his eyes that Arthur doesn't want to see ever again. His warlock's eyes are _ancient,_ heavy with undeserved weight.

"I'm sorry." Merlin tells him suddenly and the hand in his tightens. The world seems to slow down and Arthur, perhaps by will alone, manages to look at Merlin's tear-filled eyes." I can't- I can't let them hurt my mum. I _can't!_ They'll _kill_ her!"

 _No,_ though a desperate part of him wishes for all those archers to blow up so that they don't hurt Merlin Arthur fears what such display of magic might serve as a smoke-signal to Morgana and the possibility of her tracking them down and finding them. Finding _him._

 _No, don't do it._

But Arthur's seen Merlin like this before, taut like an unreleased arrow and desperate and willing to try anything and he _knows,_ without truly being able to think, that _he must not let go..._

And, as Arthur scrambles to wrap both arms around Merlin's small body, the black night turns white and gold.

* * *

The next chapter (or the next _part_ of this chapter, I guess) will actually go into what happened before the timeline of this fic, that is to say that it will have answers. :) Thank you so much for everything, y'all.

I love you, as always.

Ocean.


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